Call To Engage. Tawny Weber

cluttering up her life. But the fact that she was automatically angling for the easy route told her that she shouldn’t.

      She needed to consider the partnership seriously. Beyond the money, what it would cost? Was it worth the risk? How big of a difference would it make in her life, and could she be just as happy without it?

      Ava gathered her gear for the day. Her duffel, with street clothes and a change of workout gear. Her iPhone, earbuds, charger, wallet. A new bottle of shampoo to replace the almost-empty one in her locker. Car keys, although she walked to work in good weather.

      She capped the protein smoothie in her insulated mug and added it to the duffel, then crossed to the door. Hanging there on the wall by the heavy polished oak was a oval silver beveled frame, not more than three inches tall.

      It didn’t hold a photo, but instead a swatch of pale blue fabric and a tiny lock of hair, shades deeper than her own nutmeg brown.

      Ava kept most of her previous life exactly where it belonged—in the past. She’d locked away the memories, buried the emotions, let go of the reminders.

      Except for this.

      Her talisman. To remind her that while things might be simple now, she’d once held a life that made every complication worthwhile.

      Dominic Prescott.

      Her darling baby.

      There was no buffer that could dim the pain of waking up one morning, surprised that the four-month-old had slept through the night. Riding high on her first full night’s sleep since his birth, breasts full to aching, she’d all but danced into the nursery to nurse her baby.

      But he wouldn’t wake. He wasn’t breathing. He’d never opened those gorgeous eyes again. Other than the hysteria, Ava didn’t remember much after that. Not her husband finally coming home after three frantic days of trying to reach him. Not the doctor’s pronouncement. Not the funeral. Not the multiple people who’d tried to comfort her through a pain that couldn’t be assuaged.

      SIDS. Sudden infant death syndrome. A clean, tidy term for the end of her world. A hideous loss that had blown her already-fractured marriage all to hell.

      The only way she’d been able to survive was to leave it all behind. The perfect home she hadn’t chosen. The smothering attention of her controlling parents. Her charming prince of a husband who’d been too busy battling the world’s dragons to give a damn.

      It had taken months of therapy to pull her out of the depths of depression enough to function, and another year to work through the guilt and hatred and self-blame. But, eventually, she’d accepted that her old life was over. Gone in a blaze of misery.

      From those ashes, her new life had formed. The only thing she allowed herself to bring was her love for Dominic. Her sweet boy.

      Ava pressed her fingers to her lips, transferred the kiss to the frame.

      Then, chin high, she pulled her bright mood around her once again, grabbed the bag of granola she’d made the night before and headed out the door.

      Five minutes later she stepped through a rustic grapevine arch into the lush bounty of greens and golds. Not as big as the Napa Community Garden, this plot served Chloe’s small neighborhood.

      “Good morning,” Ava called when she spotted the blonde crouched low between rows of flowering tomato vines.

      “We’re having fresh strawberries for breakfast,” Chloe declared in lieu of a greeting. She rose with a smile, tipping the basket to show off the bright red fruit. “And a couple of nectarines, a sprig of grapes and, mmm, the first pears of the season.”

      Her stomach growling in appreciation, Ava gestured to the rest of the bounty. “And the cabbage, beets and cucumbers?”

      “Juice bar,” Chloe declared, stuffing the vegetables into a cotton bag. “I’m trying a couple of new recipes. Want to be my tester?”

      Ava eyed the sad-looking spears of asparagus and, remembering how long it had taken to rinse away the bitter coating of the last recipe she’d tested, shook her head. “Not even a little bit.”

      Ava pulled the granola out of her tote while she waited for Chloe to gather the rest of her ingredients, her bullet journal and a fist-size ring of keys.

      Nibbling on the oat-and-almond mixture as her friend turned off the hose, Ava checked the time on her cell phone. Six forty. Leave it to Chloe to be right on schedule.

      Granola in the summer, bran muffins in the winter, fruit year-round. Thanks to the near perfection of Northern California’s weather, they shared this routine of breakfast to-go and a morning walk to the gym whenever their schedules meshed.

      Chatting about everything and nothing between bites, the two women strolled along the riverside promenade that fronted downtown Napa on their way to the gym.

      “The guy would have been irritating if it wasn’t so funny watching him try to stay on the yoga ball during planks,” Ava said as she wound up her story about a know-it-all first timer who’d tried to take over her core class the night before. “He finally quit trying to instruct the rest of the class on proper form the third time he went down on his head.”

      “Bet all that giggling gave everyone some extra core work, too.” Chloe laughed. “But, hey, speaking of irritating? That creepy guy, Rob? The one who drives that gas-guzzling monster truck and calls every woman he meets a doll? I heard he’s given up trying to hire you as a personal trainer. He’s decided to go the massage route instead. He’s one of those guys that think getting naked on your table will turn the tide. Like you’re gonna see a woody and jump on. You know, to ride it like a pogo stick.”

      Ava wrinkled her nose. “And yet I manage to resist.”

      “Speaking of pogo sticks...” The blonde gave Ava a playful look. “I have the perfect guy for you. He’s a banker, which is like, totally uptight sounding. But he’s not, really. He used to jam with Bones in this jazz band, and he’s pretty fit. Not gym fit, but he plays B-ball with the guys every weekend so he’s not a slob, ya know?”

      “Nope.” Ava breathed in the cool morning air, reveling in the simplicity of it all.

      “Don’t say no. Just listen—he’s a nice guy. He drives a BMW, has good personal hygiene and likes Bourne movies. He mows his mom’s lawn even.”

      “Nope.” Wondering if she could get an extra yoga session in before her afternoon classes, Ava tried to remember her massage schedule. She knew she had morning clients but wasn’t sure if she had someone booked at eight or at nine. She wished Mack would move to a computerized system. Then she could sync it to her phone, change it on the go. It might be worth considering the partnership offer for that reason alone.

      “Ava, you’re not listening,” Chloe complained as they left the riverfront promenade, crossing the street toward a row of redbrick shops.

      When they passed the bakery, Ava breathed in the yeasty scent of fresh-baked bread and promised herself she’d stop on the way home for a small round of sourdough.

      “I listened. You want me to date a lawn-mowing, mother-loving, BMW-driving banker. Why, I’m not sure, so if you mentioned that part you’re right—I wasn’t listening.”

      “Because he’s hot. He’s nice. And you need to date. If you don’t, you’re going to dry up inside. You know the rule about muscles. Use them or lose them.” Chloe added an arch look at Ava’s hips just in case she missed the point about which muscles were in question.

      “I’ve got a Bikram yoga class this evening. Don’t worry—I’ve got it covered.” She offered a sassy smile. “Moist, hot air and a lot of Kegals. See, that way nothing dries out or withers away.”

      “You’re killing me.” Chloe sighed before stepping into the small health-food store. She came out again, adding a bag of flaxseed and tube of honey to the vegetables in her bag, and picked up the conversation as if it had never stopped.